


too terrible to name

by cattlaydee



Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Child Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Washingdad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 21:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8029810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattlaydee/pseuds/cattlaydee
Summary: On May 1, 1778, the news of a formal Treaty of Alliance with France was delivered to the camp at Valley Forge and everyone celebrated, though the General can tell, Lafayette is not as excited as he would have expected.Or, Lafayette gets some dreadful news from home.





	too terrible to name

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote most of this this morning at jury duty, so please excuse if the formatting ends up wonky, cause I'm on mobile.

**May 1778**

General George Washington strode through the encampment, exhausted. The last few weeks had been a whirlwind of developments for their cause, moments that had overwhelmed their senses but had imbued the men with renewed enthusiasm for the task at hand. He had to chuckle to himself to think of it, as he had once believed the idea of French support a lost cause; now, it would most assuredly be their best way to win this war.

His thoughts drifted to the young man who'd helped to facilitate it, and he frowned a bit. The Marquis had been somewhat distant ever since the initial news of the treaty had arrived in camp on the first of the month; while at first he had enthusiastically embraced the General, it seemed now his excitement had waned, but perhaps that was even normal. The boy was prone to effusive sentiment in the initial wake of exciting news, but often calmed so a cooler head would prevail.

Still, this didn't feel as such. Washington had watched him during the celebration when the soldiers had been allotted spirits and there had been a bit of music and dancing, and had seen the boy laughing and joking with his friends. But then they would turn away, he would hang back on his own for a moment, and the smile would falter and his eyes seemed to turn down. The General had a terrible feeling that something was wrong.

"Then talk to the boy, George," Martha had chided gently when he'd given voice to his concerns. "He's still only 20. Perhaps he's overwhelmed at achieving such a high station of importance when he's still so new to this. Perhaps he's homesick, with all of the hullabaloo of the last few weeks. Would you have been able to handle such a burden at 20?"

He'd said nothing, and merely fixed her with a quiet, sullen look, for she knew that he'd had his fair share of stumbles in his early military career. She had not balked at his silent rejoinder though; in fact, she seemed to double down with a pointed look, both eyebrows raised. He'd sighed as he sat at the table, rubbing at his face with a hand and she'd picked up the kettle off the table and left him to his tea.

She was right. Martha was always, infuriatingly, right.

And so he swept into the main tent at the camp, one flap pulled back to encourage the flow of air to keep it from being too humid. May could be cool and wet one moment, and then the heat could come without warning for a day or two, as the summer tried to edge it's way in. As he entered and removed his hat, he found his primary aide at a desk, as he almost always was, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows as he scrawled with the incessant pace he was used to.

"Hamilton, have you seen the Marquis this afternoon?"

The younger man didn't even look up from his writing. "The post came earlier and he took his letters and his meal to go down by the river."

Washington frowned. "But it will be dusk soon."

Alexander finally raised his gaze, eyebrows furrowed, as if not aware that it was inching toward the early evening; Lafayette would have been gone for hours at this point. "So it will be. I've no idea where he's gone."

And he resumed his efforts. Washington sighed, supposing he had no choice. If he wanted something done, he would have to do it himself.

He asked a few questions regarding the status of certain correspondence, which Hamilton answered without much need for thought and with a nod, satisfied with the Lieutenant Colonel's assurances, spun on his heel and made his way to the edge of the camp and into the woods to the water. He was familiar with a few spots he knew the Major General was fond of, and where they had both taken their meals before. It did not take long; after what could not have been more than a 15 or 20 minute hike, he came upon the Marquis's outline from a short distance, seated to overlook the river upon the bluff. With a soft smile, he started to draw closer.

Within a few feet of the younger man, he stepped on a branch as he grabbed at others to help him keep his balance, and it cracked loudly in the silence that was only broken otherwise by the sounds of the river. He saw Lafayette's shoulders tense, saw him reach for his side where he knew the boy sheathed a knife, and stopped, holding his hands up.

"It is only me, Lafayette. I just came to collect you. It will be growing dark soon and..."

The young man turned then to look over his shoulder and offered a weak smile, and George's chest tightened to see his eyes rimmed red. He couldn't help the look of concern that took over his features, and at that, Lafayette dipped his head, as if embarrassed and turned back to the water.

"I am fine, General," he assured, but would not look at the man. "It is merely...the spring season. My eyes water, my nose runs. It is nothing."

Washington paused, considering. "May I join you, then? If it is nothing?"

Lafayette seemed to hesitate for a moment, then offered a nod, aware of the position his denial had put himself in. The General lowered himself to the ground slowly, his knees and back not what they once were, and stretched out one leg, bending the other so he could rest an arm there. It was a nice day for enjoying the woods, warm but not hot, nor too humid and he removed his hat as well with a smile. Without request, the Marquis offered him a canteen full of water and he took it with a nod.

"Merci."

Lafayette grinned at him, and it was the first genuine smile Washington believed to have seen in some time from the boy. It'd made it worth it that he was absolutely positive he'd butchered the pronunciation.

"See? You are learning."

"Being able to offer thanks is hardly proficient." Washington responded wryly. He took a large drink of the proffered jug before returning it and then rested back once more, staring out at the water. "How has your day been, Marquis?"

Lafayette shrugged in response. “It's a beautiful day. The heat is not yet oppressive and the sun is out.”

“And yet, I sense you are discomforted.”

The boy said nothing. Washington shifted, suddenly awkward. It was not his desire to force the young man to speak on things he did not feel like addressing, but to see someone he cared for in a state he could only name as distress, he could not help but wish to alleviate it.

He wished Martha was here. She was always better with their children, always able to offer kind words and a soft hand when tears came. George had always better at fixing the thing, when the problem had tangible roots. He thought of how he'd sometime watched her with Jacky, or Patsy, and how she would sit with them, sometimes in only silence, until they felt better. He thought of how she handled his own person, when he found himself in the depths of melancholy. He sighed softly, and did not look at the boy in an effort to spare him the feeling of being over scrutinized; instead, he gazed out over the river, toward the next bluff, and decided to make an awkward attempt.

"You know, of the affection I have for you, Gilbert," He began gently. "If something is troubling you, I would like the opportunity to help you improve upon it.”

The offer was not answered immediately, but the boy did sigh loudly, and leaned back against the blossoming dogwood behind him. He sneezed then, and George had to stymie a soft smile-perhaps he was not completely embellishing the effect the spring was having on him.

He slid a bashful glance at the General, and wiped at his nose with a well worn handkerchief and then stared down at it, as if only just registering the request George had made. His face twisted, expression bittersweet.

"There is no medicine for this melancholy, I am afraid, my General." He answered quietly. "Only time." He stopped for a moment. "I received a letter from my dear wife a few days after the news of the treaty. I had written her last in October, to tell her of Brandywine and to send my love to our children, and herself. If you remember, she and I had welcomed a new daughter."

He did recall, but the way Lafayette was speaking of it made his heart skip as he fearfully assumed what would come next. Lafayette bowed his head with a small sniff. "Our eldest...I could not have known, at the time, but she passed of a fever, a few days after I posted the letter." He choked out the last few words, closing his eyes against it. "Adrienne would have received my words while still in mourning. And I was here. And she was alone. And Henriette..."

He trailed off, looking away from the General into the distance, his jawline clenching and unclenching. "I apologize, for my weakness, but I am missing my home very much right now."

He let the silence hang, unsure of what to say or do. After a few quiet moments, Gilbert swallowed once more and sniffed again, turning his face back toward the river. He had not shed any tears, it seemed, although the red of his eyes had intensified. He offered a tentative hand to the boy's shoulder and squeezed.

"Such sentiments, Gilbert, are not a weakness." He said softly. "I am so sorry for your loss."

"I should have been with her. I should have..." He bent his head, biting down on his upper lip. "Sir, you know there has been no greater pleasure of mine in this world than to serve you in the pursuit of liberty and freedom for this nation, but I cannot help but feel..." He splayed his arms at his side, and gave a little, pitiful sigh. "I feel helpless. Of no use, to her, when she would have needed me the most."

He hadn't defined who he'd meant, the little girl who'd been lost, or his wife, but George had the feeling he may have meant it for both.

“I have always felt that to serve a just and noble cause was the best way to be a good and honorable man, but what does it matter if I cannot protect and be there for them when they need it too? To think she may have wanted me there as she grew weak, I just cannot…” Lafayette shook his head with a sniff. “I am afraid, that while I may know how to be a good soldier, I do not know how to be a good and dutiful father and husband.”

His initial impulse was to, of course, deny anything of the sort. The loyalty, and passion, and general affection the boy seemed to embody, not to mention the ideals he seemed in constant pursuit of, made him someone any person would be proud to claim as their own. While these qualities also often led to him being a bit of an egoist, Washington believed that would be something assuaged as the boy grew older and matured. It certainly didn’t make him a poor parent, or partner.

And so he paused, because George could also understand the guilt, and the despair at choosing to go to war and serve a cause, and leave those he loved and found solace in behind. He had been fortunate that there had been no conflict when Martha's children were young, though, and his chest again grew heavy at the thought.

"You...have met my stepson, yes? Jacky?"

Lafayette nodded, his expression blank. It didn't surprise him; Lafayette was far too polite to say anything but he knew most people's opinion of the boy, who was unmotivated and didn't seem to care much for a leadership role. That did not make him deficient, of course, but he would not be the type of boy Lafayette would make friends with.

"You may not have heard, but Martha also had another a child when we were first wed, a little girl at two years of age at the time, and Martha’s namesake. So we called her Patsy. And though not of my blood, I considered her mine."

Lafayette's attention seemed to change, for it was apparent he had not known of Patsy, and his brow furrowed when he caught the use of the past tense. George smiled fondly, and looked down at the ground now, pulling at grass and weeds.

"Patsy was," He began, when it was evident Lafayette had nothing to add. "She was smart. Where Jacky has always shown no interest in pursuing his education, Patsy was so..." He chuckled. "She was so bothered that she was not allowed to study what he so doggedly avoided." He sighed. "She was sweet, and kind, and beautiful. And she was too young, when she passed, 5 years gone now; she was 17. I think of her often." He looked up at the young man, whose face now twisted in unshielded grief, for not only himself but for his General as well. "And you will think of your Henriette, as well. You may not have had as much time with her, but you will always treasure the moments you did."

"I...your Excellency, I did not know..."

"Gilbert, please, call me George, when we are in such informal settings." He gently corrected. “It was a long time ago, now. The grief doesn’t completely leave you, but it is easier to carry, most of the time. I am sure you will be blessed with more children as well, but they will not replace her, and you won’t forget her. And that is what is most important.” He fixed the boy with a gentle but solid look. “There are some men I've known who would not be as troubled by such news. The fact that you rend yourself in such a way shows that you cared deeply for her, and for your family. And I expect, based on what you've told me about your wife, that she knows this and understands, in only the way a woman wed to a soldier can. You are a better man than I was at 20. I would not be so hard on yourself.”

Lafayette's mouth hung slightly open, and Washington would have laughed at the boys gobsmacked reaction had it not been such a somber topic. He knew he was not prone to such sentiments, or comforts, but he found himself occasionally capable, when the opportunity called for it, to provide them.

“The sun has begun to set,” He started again, wiping his hands of the grass that clung to his fingers. He picked up his hat, and the Marquis’s where it lay next to him on the ground and handed it to him. “We should get back to camp soon.” He paused. “Will you be alright, Marquis?”

“I….” He trailed off, still stunned. “Of course, your Excellency.”

George rose then, shaking out the cape he wore around his neck, then offered a hand to the young man to help him up. Lafayette looked at the offering, then up at George, then grabbed it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. George started as he felt the boy follow through the tug, and embraced him.

“Thank you, your Excellency.” He said softly, pulling away quickly so as not to make the General uncomfortable. “I appreciate knowing I can find a confidante in yourself. You cannot know the comfort you have provided for me.”

George felt a warmth spread throughout his chest and up his neck and bent his head, embarrassed, and cleared his throat. “I hope you will know that from now on, if you need to speak about these things or anything else, you can come to me.”

Lafayette only smiled, a wide and boyish grin. “Of course, your Excellency.”

They began their trek back, with Washington initiating the journey and Lafayette soon falling in step next to him. They made small talk of the wildlife in the area, and of the trees and of the weather, and as they were almost to the boundary of the encampment, George slowed.

"You know how very much we value your service, and how so much of what has been accomplished could not have been without it." He began. "But perhaps, you should consider a trip home soon. I know it is long, and we would be without, but I would hate to be a source of regret when you miss your family so much."

"General---" The boy began to object, as if he could not believe such a proposal had been made, but George held up a hand. He could see the boy was alarmed, could see that he was almost immediately regretting what he had shared, so Washington kept speaking in an effort to reassure him.

"Lafayette, it is not an order, but a suggestion; you are under no obligation to do anything but consider it. Your absence would be distinctly felt but I think we could survive it for a time, and we would welcome you back eagerly when you returned. A blow to our friendship, however, because of a lack of foresight..." He offered a kind smile. "That is something I value too much to risk."

The boy flushed under the praise.

"Besides," Washington mused. "Depending on the state of the war, it may be wise for you to return to visit the King face to face."

George saw the observation land as he had desired it to. A contemplative look settled on the boys face, and he rubbed at his neck, cocking his head to the side as if considering.

“The King would probably prefer a briefing in person…” He considered. The look softened a bit. “And I do miss my Adrienne.” He looked up at George, tired and still a bit sad, but lighter than he'd seemed in weeks. “I will consider it. Thank you again, General. I don't know what I would do here without you.” He placed his own hat back on his head and offered a small smile. “Now, I must go find Hammy. Do you have an idea where he may be?”

George fought against an eyeroll. “Had I a need to guess, most likely still in the main tent, drafting more missives. Please do make sure he takes a break now and then, will you? It does not serve us to have him stretching himself too thin.”

The boy grinned up at him and nodded, and with a soft salute and a quick bow, turned and hurried off into the burgeoning dusk. Washington, wanting the young men to have their privacy, took some time to walk around the camp and speak with some of the men before heading back toward the home where he and Martha stayed, and slipped into their private room where she sat by the window, darning socks for the army. She looked up as he closed the door, and watched him head straight to the bottle of bourbon.

“So it went well?”

He looked at her curiously, because he was sure he looked drained and had poured himself a little more than usual, so he wasn't sure how she would come to such a conclusion.

She merely laughed, nodding at the window. “Gilbert just dashed across the middle of camp with Alexander at his heels, hollering about a quill. He seems to be in a bit of a better mood.”

He stared at her, dumbfounded, but then ducked his head and he laughed.

Well, then. For all his concerns, he supposed it had.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell with me about these goobers over on [tumblr](http://cattlaydee.tumblr.com)


End file.
